


A Lot Like Life

by DarkmoonBoar



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls II
Genre: Age Difference, Awkwardness, Bondage, Damn right I included negotiation as a part of the deal, Dry Humping, Hand Jobs, It's there but super subtle, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oneshot, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Straid is still an asshole but not a bastard coated bastard with bastard filling, The slightest use of domination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8329990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonBoar/pseuds/DarkmoonBoar
Summary: A socially awkward male sorcerer Bearer has the most nervous of crushes on Straid of Olaphis. A pity he's too much of a neurotic mess to admit he wants to be tied up and jerked off.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh it's 1am and I really should go to bed and edit this in the morning before posting it but fuck it. 
> 
> As per usual, brownie points to those who know what song I'm referencing.
> 
> Also, yet another fic without any SM BUT it's also very kinky.
> 
> Yes, I have a clear bias for magic users and NPCs that are snarky or otherwise somewhat irritating shits. I can't help it, Straid is stupidly sexy.
> 
> NGL I struggled with getting the opening to not be pure garbage.

With a faintly amused smirk, Straid watched the familiar silhouette of his cursed _de facto_ apprentice saunter up the stairs from the floor below and begin to methodically take out the various shackled Undead in the room outside his cell with a mix of both magic and his infused rapier. Earlier in their little correspondences, he was loath to admit that the tiniest embers of fondness blossomed when the young lad would come poking around, sometimes for spells, sometimes to trade powerful souls, sometimes clearly just to hear the older mage talk. And he had to admit, that had a certain charm to it. The Bearer of the Curse was initially shy, but over time, he gained enough confidence to carry on long conversations, even becoming comfortable enough to ask Straid about Olaphis and his life prior to being imprisoned and petrified.

But lately the younger man had become reticent and easily flustered. Sure, the Bearer had tried to hide the fact that occasionally, when he'd come up the stairs and didn't think Straid was aware of his presence, would stop, look at the older sorcerer, and sigh longingly. Sometimes eye contact had him sputtering and stammering, and he now frequently had an entertainingly deep flush that ran from his ears down to his neck anytime he chose to be around. Straid had been around long enough on the earth and was more than clever enough to read all the sorcerer's little tells. Not that they were too terribly well-disguised to begin with.

It was actually a tad bit adorable, as adorable as it was curious. And he had been trying to subtly get the man to just get it over with and admit that he adored him, Straid of Olaphis, for weeks by standing closer to his protege when they talked, letting his touch linger when correcting his truly awful stance when trying to cast spells, even allowing his gaze to linger over the lithe little Undead's pleasing form. Either it had gone entirely over his head (which truly wouldn't surprise him), or the Bearer of the Curse was simply much too afraid to take the initiative.

And that was the trouble because, despite his ego, he didn't feel comfortable making overt advances on someone a good bit younger (even if he was an adult) and someone he held a position over, even if unofficial. He cared naught for propriety, but still, it burned a hole through him like a carelessly discarded torch.

The Bearer of the Curse stood before him, fidgeting a bit and eying him like he had a request to make but hadn't quite figured out how to phrase it yet. He clearly had something on his mind as he struggled and became increasing uneasy, swaying slightly and rubbing the back of his neck. The light of the bonfire cast a flattering orange glow across his face and body.

Feeling a mix of both pity and mirth, Straid cleared his throat, flashed the Bearer a lopsided grin, and asked, his voice nasally and oozing with pride, “Back for more of my spells, little cursed one?” With one hand still laced around his staff, his other stroking his beard, he leaned back against the wall and tilted his head up just slightly. His golden mask could hardly disguise his expression, not that he wanted it to.

The sorcerer looked around anxiously as if avoiding looking at Straid, before looking him right in the eyes (and began furiously blushing, of course!) and answering, “Uh, yeah, sure.” He gave the older man before him a small and wholly endearing smile, its wavering quality granting him no favors in his attempt to appear the opposite of a nervous wreck.

He didn't need to be reminded to hand over a powerful soul, the soul of the Scorpion Najka, in fact. The older mage grinned at him, elated at being given such a large soul in exchange for being taught a spell.

“Well! This is a most charming soul. Very good, very good indeed. My power is yours! Let it serve your desires. Heh heh heh,” Straid said, draping his arm clasping his staff around the lad, doing his best to look disinterested in the fact the young sorcerer looked on the verge of swooning from being touched by his crush. After producing the correct scroll from his collection, he corralled them both downstairs, noting the dead prisoners littering the ground, and outside where there were slain Royal Gaurdsmen and an Undead Jailer. At least out here, they wouldn't potentially destroy the cot he had to drag into his cell and arrange far from the bonfire.

He handed over the scroll and watched the young sorcerer amble a good distance away, taking a few seconds to appreciate the curvature of his rear, before returning to a stern expression. The Bearer's posture, at least, wasn't too terrible. In fact, it was a decent improvement over the course of their last few sessions. Still, he wouldn't tell him that as he strode forward and let out a few tuts before standing before the young apprentice.

“Ugh, put a little more pride into your stance. Doesn't your back ache from swinging around your sword like that?” he tsk-tsked, lightly correcting the Bearer by pressing at his back, then tilting his chin. He noticed the laryngeal prominence of the Undead bob as he struggled to breathe in response and struggled to not look at him. And, of course, he was failing; every time he gathered the courage to actually look at the man that was going to teach him a new spell, he'd end up with his incredibly guilt laden expression across his face that was almost pouty.

Quirking an eyebrow under the mask of his hood, Straid said, “I'm going to show you what a proper cast of the spell looks like. I'm going to go far away now, as to avoid hitting you. Still, I suggest you stay alert.” He smirked knowingly at the Bearer of the Curse before patting his face and returning to his place at the far end of the bridge.

The older sorcerer, already quite confident in his ability, needed no introduction or applause before he raised his intricate, crystal tipped staff, and cast a spell. A large, glowing blue soul mass materialized out of the top that followed a curve path upwards, washing Straid's face in bright blue light, until it met its apex, and burst into a shower of smaller masses.

Of course, the mind of the young man he was teaching was elsewhere; he jolted a little as the resulting cascade of soul masses made a lot of racket, his gaze clearly focused on _him_.

Sighing, emotions torn between exasperation and gratified, the older sorcerer shouted, “Now give it a try, since you have the scroll.”

Despite the fact his attention was conspicuously on the caster and not the spell the entire time during the demonstration, the Bearer of the Curse managed to cast the Soul Shower without incident or flaw. Though he might have been distracted and slightly neurotic, the lad was at least quick to learn and intelligent to boot.

Even he couldn't prevent himself from grinning at his pupil's successful as he waved him over.

As the faintly smiling Bearer of the Curse trod forward shyly back to his mentor, Straid placed a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezed. “Let's head back inside, shall we?” he suggested but more or less demanded, letting go of the younger man to lead them both back to his cell.

When they made it back and the older mage had set his staff against the wall, the Undead seemed a little reluctant to leave, but even more hesitate to really speak, looking at Straid with the most priceless and restless countenance. He certainly wanted something, and as per usual, instead of saving himself all the pain, chose to stand there at scratch at the back of his neck and rake his hand through his hair. But eventually, he seemed to give up on the entire idea… which obviously involved some sort of admission of his attraction and admiration.

The sorcerer gave him one last look, full of yearning and lust, before he turned around, his shoulders somewhat slumped. Straid let out an exasperated breath. His far less subtle than usual attempts to get the Bearer of the Curse to just come out and say it had completely backfired. He'd actually have to force it out of him. Well… not so much as force as cajole.

“There's something still on your mind, isn't there, cursed one?” he inquired, a little mocking, a little teasing, completely allowing himself to smirk down at the just barely shorter man who still stood faced away. The other sorcerer looked over his shoulder, then slowly turned to face Straid. He swallowed thickly, and opened his mouth, looking very much like a hit dog. Of course, any sound that attempted to come out faltered.

With an expression that was actually soft and kind for once, Straid closed the distance between the two, stopping mere inches in front of the sorcerer. Smiling, more amiable than smug, he insisted, “I haven't judged you yet.” The Bear's eyes scanned over the mage's face as if looking for some catch, some kind of ruse, and he licked his lips (a gesture that almost had him weak). For a moment, the older mage thought he wouldn't actually get anything out of the Bearer, given how long he just sat there with wide and frantic eyes.

“You. I've been thinking about you. I want you,” he managed to get out, and surprisingly, it wasn't a squeak, it wasn't stammered, it was actually loud enough to hear and completely and utterly coherent. He wouldn't be disappointed after all. Now fully grinning at his partial success, the older sorcerer quipped with a raised eyebrow underneath his mask, “Well, that's rather vague. I can see from your expression quite well it's a little more complicated than that, and we both know I'm not a fool. I suggest you make it easy for yourself and get out with it as to not waste either of our precious time.” The sorcerer's flush deepened to a most peculiar uneven shade of bright vermillion, and he clenched his fists tight. Even the Undead's robes were failing to hide the tenting of his crotch, and it took a little effort for Straid to not draw his eyes towards it.

Between his teeth, while he looked down at the floor and twirled a foot around like he was an awkward child and not an awkward grown man, he stammered, “I-I want you to t-tie me up and. Um. Stroke me only to r-relent when I get close, decide when I get my release. And maybe, uhh, you could grind up against me?” He closed his eyes, and his entire body tensed, as if he were expecting some sort of negative physical retaliation from the confession. Chuckling deep from within his chest, Straid placed one hand on the sorcerer's right shoulder and used another to gently lift his head to look him square in the eye. My, his eyes were extraordinarily wet in appearance, as if he were on the verge of breaking into shameful tears.

“My dear, have you ever done this before?” he questioned him fondly, sliding the hand up the shoulder and neck to the back of the Bearer's head. The Undead simply shook his head. “Very well. I want you to think of a word to use if and when something happens that makes you uncomfortable, that is too much, that you don't like, I believe you get the idea,” Straid explained with an askew, toothy smile, “A word that you're likely not to accidentally blurt out in the throes of passion but is still easily remembered and said.”

The Bearer of the Curse looked up, eyes dancing over Straid's lips, and bit his own. “Okay, umm,” he drawled in thought, his brows drawn together pensively, “Er, how about 'crystal?'” The younger sorcerer seemed to be relaxing somewhat, although he was still clearly tense. As if an effort to reassure Straid, he reached for the hand on his chin and brought it up to one of his cheeks, all the while staring somewhat glassy eyed. Intently watching the Bearer drag the hand to his lips and plant a bashful kiss onto his gloved palm that he could barely feel, the older man replied with the barest hint of a hitched breath, “Repeat it for me so you remember.”

The eyes of the young sorcerer flitted up towards Straid. His pupils were quite dilated, and his breath came out harder against the leather covering Straid's hand. “Crystal,” he repeated softly against the older man's palm. His eyes fell back down to the hand he was clutching, then bounced back up when Straid laughed a bit huskily, “Good. Very good indeed.” Studying the Undead for a bit, he took back control of his hand, tipping the chin of the young man back up. The resulting stuttering of the Bearer's breath was beautiful, a most exquisite symphony to the older mage's ears. “Be a dear and help me take off your clothes,” he urged with the tips of his gloves of his other hand beginning to work at his belt. Without any more instruction, the sorcerer began to undo the clasps on his robe.

He rather noisily gasped as Straid pulled it off his form and neatly folded it, carrying it off to his bare penal bed instead of leaving it on the ground. The somewhat coarse black robe had done a good job at concealing the fact that despite being a magic-user, the Bearer of the Curse was hardly frail; though not bulky, his shoulders were broad and well developed, and his stomach mostly flat (though it still had a small amount of softness to it). Being a wanderer had done well for him. The older mage's eyes traveled south, permitting himself to smirk lecherously at the unobstructed view of the younger man's leather clad groin.

“Youth does have a few advantages, does it not, little cursed one?” he teased, tracing the outline of the bulge with the ends of the glove, grin widening almost painfully when the Bearer closed his eyes and groaned so sweetly, “Your body responds quickly and… vehemently. Relish it while you can.” Slowly undoing the ties on the Undead's trousers, watching every little contraction and tensing of the his muscles, Straid then leaned forward until his hot breath blew across the sorcerer's ears. While pressing down with a fingertip and dragging it up and down the younger man's clothed erection, he whispered, his lips dangerously close to the lobe, “Your boots?”

The Bearer of the Curse bent forward to unlace his boots, then yank them off his feet to set them aside. When the younger of the two returned to an upright stance, Straid leisurely began to work on tugging the pants down, his lips tantalizingly close to the bared neck of the Undead. The younger sorcerer whimpered when Straid brushed them across his neck, the older man's well-groomed beard tickling him as he did so. “I'm going to take my time with you. Do you know how long I bode my time, waiting for you to come to me as you did?” he growled against the young man's neck, enjoying the anticipatory trembling.

“Gods, no, I don't,” the Bearer of the Curse moaned, though the question was largely rhetorical. And the older mage couldn't help but laugh heartily at such an answer.

Once the trousers were down to the Bearer's ankles, the mage clasped his hands around the young man's hips, ignoring the freed erection desperately pressing up against him and leaving the smallest damp spot. His hips were soft, fat stubbornly clinging to that area despite the sorcerer's otherwise relatively lean body. Sighing, Straid withdrew his head a moment, staring down at the parted, panting mouth of the Undead, soaking in the younger man's lust-addled expression before slipping one hand around to the small of his back, another all the way up to his neck, and stealing a scorching kiss that had the younger sorcerer pressing his body completely into him.

His lips tasted the way fire smelled and yet, it was appealing in its own way.

After Straid pulled away, the Bearer of the Curse whined and wobbled slightly at the loss. His eyes were closed, before flying open when he felt the taller sorcerer's hands leave his body. The Undead shuddered when the older man returned with the discarded belt. “Place your wrists together in front of your chest for me,” the older of the two commanded, briefly petting the younger man's hair. The Bearer presented his wrists, and looked up at his superior as the man began to delicately tie them together. Humming to himself as he fastened the knot (which was secure but just as easily untied in an emergency), Straid then said, “Let me know if your hands or fingers go numb, if they hurt, or if this is too tight.”

“Also… if you wish to have your depraved little request fulfilled, I suggest you tell me when you're close.”

The Undead nodded, keeping his hands in front of him as the older man began to caress his back with the lightest of touches, trying to stay still under the ticklish sensation. When the fingers began trailing towards his buttocks, he keened and arched his back in a clear bid for more. When his hands neared the ample flesh, Straid instead wandered his hands to the younger sorcerer's thighs, noting how firm and powerful they felt and looked. Another day, and perhaps instead he could have them wrapped around him. But today, it wasn't about _his_ desires.

When the Bearer of the Curse leaned forward and rested his head against one of his shoulders, panting against his neck, Straid turned his head and kissed his forehead, all the while snaking a hand down to knead a bare buttock. Almost immediately, the younger sorcerer's breathing caught, if only for a moment. “Even if you did request some denial, I do hope you have no protests against what I said earlier because I think you'll appreciate this far more than something quick and dirty,” he crooned lowly in the Bearer's ear, raptly observing how the young sorcerer melted into his touch, how his body transitioned from still somewhat rigid to completely at ease.

“I have no complaints thus far,” the young man affirmed against Straid's neck with a smile. The satisfied exhalation the Bearer made after quickly turned into a gasp when the hand that was still at his hip traveled down his front in between his thighs, so close and yet so far from his throbbing genitals. His leaking prick visibly bobbed as the older mage gently squeezed his thigh. “As I said earlier,” the older mage snickered before pressing another kiss to the Bearer's forehead, the thumb of his hand fondling his arse now dipping in between the cheeks. He alternated between caressing the inner thighs of the young Undead and squeezing his magnificently tight rear.

_His_ cursed one lifted his head and gazed at him with such a nakedly needy expression that, if he had been a weaker-willed man, would have resulted in him caving in to his rising want right then and there. Instead, he raised his one hand at the bound sorcerer's arse to his waist, both anchoring him and urging him forward as he dove in to kiss his lips once more. This time, he chose to draw it out, even added in tongue, which had the Bearer of the Curse moaning into his mouth and grinding his hips up into him. The younger man's tied hands were trapped between their bodies. 

Eventually, he released the young sorcerer from the kiss, noting how glazed his eyes were and how wet, swollen, and red his lips looked. Straid allowed him to shuffle back a little so his hands wouldn't fall asleep or begin to ache from being so awkwardly positioned.

A gloved hand briefly cupped at the young sorcerer's groin, which had him whining loudly, his legs quaking, and his pelvis arcing upwards. “Do I have to beg?” the Bearer of the Curse gasped breathlessly as the two fingers from the other hand delicately stroked in between his buttocks. Pressing the fingers inwards, but not inserting them, Straid clucked, “You can if you wish, but that's not going to earn you release any faster, my dear. Be patient, and don't make me gag you.” He planted a soothing kiss to the younger sorcerer's forehead, breathing a bit harshly against him.

With a barely there touch and the utmost care not to accidentally scratch with the sharp knuckles of his gloves, the older mage dragged a palm underneath and across the flushed member of the Bearer, not minding that when he grazed the tip, some of the dripping pre had left a sticky, translucent trail. Arching an eyebrow, he stared at his own open palm, the gears in his mind turning. He stared straight into the eyes of the younger sorcerer as he brought it to his own face licked it, watching and feeling him squirm up against him. Then, he again glided his hand underneath the Bearer's cock, this time going back and forth instead of abruptly stopping. Observing the young sorcerer so clearly struggle between his desire to stay still and his desire to thrust up against the touch amused Straid.

Once the Undead was sweating at his hairline and groaning, he delicately curled his fingers around the top and peeled back the foreskin, exposing the wet, red, flared tip. “Shit,” the Bearer hissed, briefly tensing up as the older mage began to rub circles on the head with his slick palm. Each time, he jolted against his mentor, cursing, panting, and whimpering at the almost painful, intensely pleasurable sensation across such sensitive skin. Straid, the bastard he was, smirked shamelessly from ear to ear, occasionally kissing the sorcerer's hair, occasionally lazily teasing his entrance with the other hand, but still never penetrating.

Still, the young sorcerer endured it, and at one point began shaking so much the hand on his ass ended up wrapped around him to keep him steady, to keep him close, so he didn't fall. Suddenly, he stopped the stimulation and allowed himself to rake his eyes across his apprentice. His hairline was no longer the only thing glistening; his clavicles and hips, twinkling with sweat, stood out the most. The Bearer of the Curse caught his breath, clinging closely to Straid at a slightly awkward angle where he could bury his face into his chest while having his hands comfortably towards his side.

The older mage's other hand twisted through the Bearer's damp hair as he cooed, “Not so weak after all. You're doing well.”

“I'm going to move behind you now,” he purred into the young traveler's ear, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before releasing him from the embrace. He then ducked behind the Bearer, clasping his waist as he peppered the sorcerer's neck with kisses and nuzzles. Stridently moaning, the Undead bared his neck, thrashed, and ground his buttocks up against Straid's now fully hard groin. “Now now, behave,” the older mage rasped teasingly, voice thick with lust, gently squeezing the man's waist.

For good measure, his hands left their station to give the Undead's buttocks a good squeeze before one returned to his waist, the other presented in front of the mouth of the bound sorcerer. The younger man stared at it bemused for a second before Straid interjected, “Lick my hand, unless you  _really_ want the drag of leather across your entire shaft.” Without further ado, the Bearer of the Curse licked the gloved palm of the mage, even licking the fingertips and sucking the gloved fingers into his mouth, clawed knuckles and all. “Impressive but unnecessary,” the older mage cackled before the young traveler released his fingers.

He soon after curled the hand around the Bearer's cock and gave it a slow, upward tug, grinning as he watched tacky liquid bead at the tip and stubbornly stick to his leather glove. He did this a few more times before the young sorcerer made a faint whimpering noise. Grinning up against his neck, Straid's hand at his waist traveled upwards until it was languidly stroking his chest, just barely brushing over the hardened nipples as though it were merely incidental. The younger man's body grew incredibly taut and strained, as if desperately attempting to keep himself from either thrusting into the older mage's hands or rub up against the tenting in his trousers.

Before sucking a dark mark right above the Undead's right clavicles, the older man almost whispered, “I'm curious as to what other things you'd have me do when you've so clearly lusted after me for so long, because, as I'm sure you can imagine, I can think of more than a few I'd be delighted to.” He began to stroke the Bearer's prick in earnest, using slow, delicate motions of his wrist, now hanging onto the bound sorcerer with a hand palm down against his bare chest. “Like w-what?” the young sorcerer asked breathily, letting his head droop a little against the supporting weight of the man behind him. The hand almost clawed into him as Straid sought an anchor to support himself as he rubbed his clothed erection against the other man's naked arse.

“Oh, do you think you could handle me when you're all but a puddle on the floor?” he licked his lips before he continued, watching every gradual beat of his hand, “Very well. Next time I could also bind your feet together, bend you over the bed in front of the bonfire and… surely you have a little bit of imagination?” His chest thrummed against the back of the Bearer of the Curse, and he gently rolled the young sorcerer's nipples, observing how his calves tensed up and his toes curled. “But,” the younger man groaned and further presented his neck for more hickeys and other such love marks, “I love it when you talk to me, Straid.”

“I've noticed as much. Don't think I haven't seen that you keep twitching in my hand every time I speak. But since you flatter my ego so...” he purred as the hand not leisurely pumping up and down the Bearer's throbbing, veiny cock grabbed the Bearer's chin to pull him into a long, deep, sensual kiss. The ensuing muffled noises of bliss against his mouth had Straid chuckling. When he pulled away, the stray hand dipped down to clasp at the flushed, sweaty young sorcerer's hip as he thrust his dressed erection up between the other man's buttocks. The Undead looked over his shoulder and panted, “Just tell me, please.”

Humming nonchalantly, the older mage replied, “I'm curious as to just how many unsightly messes I can get you to make between my fingers and… well, surely you feel it prodding you right now, little cursed one? You'll find I prefer to draw things out.” He punctuated the sentence with another roll of his hips and increasing the pace as which he stroked the Bearer's weeping prick. For a moment, he stilled, before grinding up against the bound sorcerer again, panting slightly and feeling quite warm under his robes.

For the first time, the bound hands of the Bearer of the Curse twitched, less as if he were attempting to free himself and more as if he were attempting to grab for something. “More,” the young traveler puffed, arcing his back and tilting his pelvis, less in attempt to get more from the hand around his member and more to entice. “More of what? This?” the older mage growled as his grip on the man's hips tightened as he ground up against the Undead's rump. Although he wasn't anywhere near close to spending in his own trousers, he could definitely tell he was going to leave a stain just from all the pre leaking from the agonizingly clothing protected, nonpenetrative contact.

Suddenly the younger man stilled entire, almost every muscle in his body going rigid. If he was blushing radiantly before, he was nearly incandescent now. “I'm going to cum,” he exhaled and gulped as if attempting to swallow a large mass, clearly short of breath and dazed. Similarly, the hand on his length ceased all activity, though it stayed wrapped about the turgid flesh. Straid kissed his sweat-soaked hair and embraced him from behind, nosing the bound Bearer's nape. Grinning widely behind his unofficial apprentice and unofficial lover, he sighed, “Very good.”

The Bearer's member looked quite red in his hand, clearly aching for release, and after letting it just sit, actually began to feel a little heavy, more than likely just from the pressure against his palm that felt it would sink in at any moment. Given how well-endowed the young sorcerer was, he considered at a later point bringing the quite skittish, handsome little thing to his knees by being on his knees, just as long as the traveler knew who was still in charge. He never really understood the association of penetration with domination when one could just as easily top from the position of being penetrated, but  _that_ was ignorance for you. It had been a while since he had been the receptive partner so it would have to wait, especially with the impressive girth that, despite the inactivity, was still harder than stone.

“So,” he started as a way to pass time and get the Bearer's mind off his once impending orgasm, “Am I the first man you've been with?” Straid quickly kissed where the jaw and neck of the sorcerer met before twisting his face into a devious smirk. The Undead shifted on his feet somewhat and simply replied, “Well… no, it's just I've always been really… bad at umm, approaching others. But I'm not very experienced either.” Well, that was completely unsurprising. Still, it stroked his ego knowing the same young man who was clearly capable of defending himself and intelligent to boot was reduced to stammering around him as if he were some unassailable obstacle.

After the younger man's breathing had finally returned to normal and his skin began to look less flushed, Straid returned to running his fist up and down the rigid rod, even faster in pace than before. “I'm going to keep you on your toes just to see you thrash and hear you moan,” he growled against the Bearer's hair, grinding up and down against him. The sorcerer cried out in pleasure, shaking both from the teasing going on against his ass and the gloriously silky gloved hand stroking him like he had done this a thousand times before to someone else. Straid then rapidly caressed with a single finger back and forth across the frenulum, grinning as the Bearer's face went slack while his body went stiff and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Fuh-uh-uuh-uuuuuuck. Goddammit Straid,” the Undead rasped as one hand curled around him to steady him and keep him from falling as his body repeatedly jerked. The hand around his dick went back to pumping it, picking up the pace while being cautious not to give it a death grip. It didn't take long before the Bearer of the Curse writhed against the older mage's form again and barely managed to squeal, “Pretty sure I'm close again.” This time, the older man chose to release the Bearer's cock by sliding his hand down and off, just to watch it briefly bounce up and down and splatter droplets of pre onto the floor.

“And I don't even have anything stuck in you,” the older mage cackled, placing kisses across the Undead's shoulders in between frenetic giggles. He was all so close to saying “Gods, you're perfect” but decided against such a bold, unwarranted outburst; he'd be lying if he said he wasn't unaffected by how wonderful the Bearer's body felt against his own and how fervently he responded to his touch. However, he wouldn't let it take control of his actions.

After a long period of quiet, save for the sound of wet smacking as he kissed the Undead's neck and suckled hickeys into it as well as the Undead catching his breath, Straid slotted his bulge (which was harder than it had been in a long time) in between the young sorcerer's buttocks again. The traveler was quite sweaty, and they both certainly smelled musky of sex now. “You're not worried I'm going to sully your robes?” the Bearer of the Curse questioned, doing his best to rub his head against the older mage's shoulder. Beginning to resume jerking the young man off, Straid grunted, his tone very unconcerned, “If it bothered me, I wouldn't be dressed, now would I?”

“Besides, this is just one way I can assert that I'm _your_ superior, if you will,” he added with a n indecent, sinful smirk, his other hand finally straying down to the groin of the Undead and fondled his sac. He momentarily halted his rhythm on the Bearer's rod and brought his fingers up to the quietly babbling mouth of the younger sorcerer to gently prod at his lips. Without needing a verbal order, he sucked them into his mouth, drifting his tongue over the fingertips and suckling upon them while he moaned around them. During this time, Straid had taken upon himself to slide the other hand down and around to toy with the Undead's entrance, tracing the circle of muscle and closely monitoring the startled puffs of air against his fingers. 

With a deep rumble in his throat, the older sorcerer remarked, “You really do seem to enjoy that more than I do. I'll  keep that information  in mind for  next time .”  After letting the younger man worship his digits for the better of several minutes, he them  pulled  away  to replace them around the Undead's length. He resumed manually pleasuring the Bearer of the Curse, choosing to set a slow pace at first, but steadily increasing it as time went on. The other hand snaked around again to lock the recipient into a hug as to assist in shallowly rocking into the ample backside of the young sorcerer.

Leaning his head backwards, the heavy-lidded Undead sought out Straid's mouth, snatching him up into a greedy deep kiss that went on until both were  gasping . Eventually, the rhythm of the older mage's hand stroking the hard-on of the younger reached its peak, fast than it had before, and had the Bearer cursing loudly and jerking in the grasp of Straid. His eyes were rolled back, and he frantically bit at his lower lip as pleasure began to pool deep within his stomach, at the very bottom of his spine, and bloom outwards. “Straid,” he barely managed to groan out in between feverish pants as he felt the other sorcerer's garbed cock rub up against his buttocks, “I'm almost there.”

A pleased smile split the older mage's face, and he nuzzled at his bound lover's neck, all the while failing to relent, especially not with the way the Bearer of the Curse was arching up against him, drawing his body incredibly taut in the process. “Yes,” he whispered huskily into the ears of the younger sorcerer, “Fall apart for me.” The knees of the Undead literally shook as he curled his toes and clamped his teeth down on his own bottom lip. He was dimly aware of the erection poking at and grinding up against his arse as he closed his eyes.

Then, he came tumbling over the edge, spurting all over Straid's fingers and onto the floor with a shrill cry. Seconds later, he was panting and boneless against the older mage, nearly crumbling in on himself in the process.  The older mage caught him with both arms, careful not to smear the spend all over the exhausted form of the Bearer. “I'll have you out in a second. Let my clean up my hand first,” the older mage cooed, soothingly rubbing circles on the younger man's hips. The Undead nodded with his eyes still closed, able to stand on his own, albeit  unsteadily . 

After managing to get the seed off his glove, Straid quickly returned, holding the Bearer steady as he deftly undid the knot he tied earlier. Once freed, the Undead clung weakly to his robes. Silently, the older man led them to the bed, used a spare handkerchief to clean up the mess on the body of the younger man, took off his own boots, and joined him on the bed, holding him close up against his chest and petting his hair.

“Hmm?” the Bearer of the Curse hummed in confusion, clearly not expecting tenderness from his teacher. Faintly chuckling, Straid replied warmly, “It would be irresponsible to leave such a vulnerable, young, and most importantly, _naked_ sorcerer on his own.” Not one to argue, the Undead nuzzled the chest of his mentor as he caught his breath and rode out the intense afterglow of such an intense climax.

After laying together on the bed for several minutes, the younger of the two croaked, “Th-thank you, sir Straid, for teaching me one of your spells. And umm,” he giggled tiredly, “Wearing me out.” Twirling some of the Bearer's hair around his gloved digits, the older man replied, “I never tire of the charm of you thanking me but… no need. I got as much out of this as you did.” One of the arms of the Undead glided to his back and rubbed the fabric of his robe absent-mindedly. 

“Want me to hand you your clothing?” the older of the two broke the silence, kissing the Bearer's hair. The Undead sighed against his chest, then responded without lifting his face, his voice a bit muffled, “Sure.” The older mage patted him to get off, sat up, and collected the robe, belt, and trousers of the younger man, who too sat up. Rubbing his eyes a bit, the young sorcerer took his clothing and promptly dressed himself.

A few moments of silence passed before the older of the two asked, “Are your wrists stiff or sore?” Shaking his head, the Bearer scooted up to Straid, then rested his head against his shoulder. Chewing on his lower lip indecisively for a while, the older sorcerer cleared his throat and suggested, “If you wanted to stay the night, I wouldn't be opposed.” This had the Undead look up at him with a single, open eye. “As much as I'd like to, I really ought to get going” he yawned, covering his mouth at the very last second.

He stood up, looked around for his boots, and went to putting them on.

“But I promise next time I will,” he smiled, sitting up so he could give Straid a long parting kiss, throwing one arm around his neck and using his other hand to stroke the side of his face. When they wrenched apart, the Bearer of the Curse swore for a split second he saw a flicker of hurt disappointment in the other man's sable brown eyes before morphing back into the haughty look he had most of the time. 

“Very good but… don't leave me waiting too long for your return,” Straid replied with a broad grin as he watched the younger man stand, giving his face one last caress, even giving his beard a gentle scratch before parting. The Bearer of the Curse gave him a brief, adoring smile over his shoulder as he headed down the stairs.


End file.
